


Talent

by emungere



Category: Seiyou Kottou Yougashiten | Antique Bakery, Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For daegaer: Crawford buying cakes and being struck by Ono's demonic charm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talent

It was clear how the bakery got its name, Crawford thought. Even his water glass was, if not actually an antique, at least older than he was. It had a flowing, fluted shape, and a metallic tint to it that he hoped didn't mean there was a case of lead poisoning in his near future.

The dishes at the other tables looked equally fine; the place was softly lit; and the patrons spoke in the hushed murmur of a museum. It seemed the ideal place to spend his only free half-hour of the day, much better than heading back to the noise and chaos of Schwarz's apartment.

Despite the quiet, the place was busy enough. The one waiter moved from table to table without ever quite running, though he often came close. Crawford was just beginning to get impatient--he'd had no coffee since seven--when a young man clad in chef's whites edged out of the kitchen.

He had short, bleached hair, glasses, and a wariness about his eyes. Maybe it was that last that caught Crawford's attention, but for whatever reason, he watched as the young man and the harried waiter spoke in hushed voices and much louder gestures at the back of the room.

The conversation ended with a glare on the waiter's part and a resigned sigh from the chef, who glanced around the room before heading directly for Crawford's table.

"I apologize, sir, for the wait. We're a bit short handed today. Have you had a chance to look at the--" He looked up from his notepad, then, and paused, eyes on Crawford's face, lips parted the slightest bit. "Ah. Menu?"

"Just coffee, please."

"Oh, but sir, we have some lovely specials today." The chef leaned close, one hand on the table. He slipped his glasses off, and once he caught Crawford's eyes, it was hard to look away.

"I don't eat sweets."

"Ah, well, we do have some savory things as well." Crawford was sure he drew out the word 'savory' longer than was strictly necessary. "Perhaps I could interest you in our Roquefort trifle, with French butter pear relish? The Roquefort cheese is softened and folded with the freshest whipped cream, and layered with crisp walnut dacquoise. And the relish--"

"Yes," Crawford said. He found he was staring at the man's lips, soft and pink and faintly wet. He was going to look away, he told himself. Any second now. "Yes, thank you. That will do."

"I'm so glad," the man all but purred. And was he standing closer still? Crawford felt rather warm. "So very glad we could find something to interest you. I'll return in just one moment. I feel sure you will find this dish most satisfying."

He left.

Crawford sat still and breathed for a count of ten. Then he got up and stepped quickly back out into the street. The chef was worse than Schuldig at his most charming, and Schuldig's charm could be a force of nature. It was just as well he seldom cared enough to use it. This shop was going on Eszett's watch list as soon as Crawford found time to make the phone call.

As he walked away, he heard the chef's voice calling after him. Despite himself, he turned back--just in time to see the waiter grab the chef's arm and hiss something at him. The only words Crawford caught were, "Idiot!" and "Stabbed in the _street_."


End file.
